


I hate accidents (except when we went from friends to this)

by Bellelaide



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M, So angsty!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-10-25 23:44:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20732687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellelaide/pseuds/Bellelaide
Summary: Eric stepped back and opened the door, shoulders deflating. He couldn’t say no, not when Dele needed him. It didn’t matter what Eric wanted or what was best for him, not when Dele was at his door like this, after a summer of being ignored by Eric, still coming to him because he couldn’t settle when he was somewhere unfamiliar.Eric closed the door sadly, feeling simultaneously like he had lost and like he had won.





	1. Chapter 1

Eric woke up in London with someone’s soft tanned limbs draped over his, and he decided he wasn’t going to shave his head anymore. 

He disentangled himself from her carefully, long blonde hair spilling over her face so that Eric couldn’t be sure if this one was Millie or Emily. Sun was pouring lazily through the blinds and it made Eric feel slow and syrupy as he moved to the bathroom, sliding a hand over his buzz cut in the mirror. 

He was feeling a little bit nostalgic, to tell the truth, fuzzy and self indulgent. The start of a new season always got him that way, remembering the thrill of being back in England after a summer in Europe.

Things were easier in summers gone by, back when he was new to Spurs. He wasn’t so injury prone, and he was fresh and new and had _potential_. And things were okay with Dele. 

It wasn’t that things were bad. Like, they hadn’t fallen out. As in, bad words hadn’t been exchanged. Eric sighed and took out his toothbrush. Sometimes he wished bad words had been exchanged - maybe it’d be easier if they were actively fighting than whatever this was. 

Eric knew it was his own fault. They’d always been on a precipice, tip toeing an invisible line. He loved Dele and he thought Dele loved him back, but that they were just careful about it. In another life they’d have met at uni, in the same halls or the same seminar, and no one would’ve minded that they wanted to fuck or text all the time or squeeze the ingrown hairs on each other’s calves. 

Dele always insisted he wasn’t gay, and at first Eric understood. He was turned on by it, even - but then they’d be texting late at night, and things would creep towards the line of friendship, Eric sending _I’m so horny lol_ and Dele replying _you should get sucked off more_. Eric, bottom lip between his teeth, saying _yeah? You offering?_ And then like a bucket of ice water, Dele: _I’m not gay haha_. 

Maybe Dele wasn’t gay, and Eric was misreading everything. Maybe he was so desperate for love he convinced himself Dele felt the same way, that it meant more to him than just being good friends. Either way, it was before the Champions League final, and Eric was punch drunk on the excitement, the possibility, when he turned up on Dele’s doorstep. 

He was going to bite the bullet and say it, going to kiss Dele finally, finally. He edged his way into Dele’s space, grinning, hand cupping the side of his face. He opened his mouth to speak and as he did Dele pushed him away, eyes on the ground, mouth twisted sadly. 

It wasn’t how this was meant to go. Dele wasn’t supposed to say “I’m back with Ruby. She’s coming to the final.” Eric hadn’t planned to blush bright red and stutter about an interview he had to be at, the fucking condoms he’d put in his pocket burning through his jeans. Humiliation didn’t even come close. 

Angry and embarrassed, Eric decided in that moment that he’d had enough. They’d never been just friends, anyway, not in Eric’s mind. He wasn’t going to lose anything by pushing Dele away. All he had to gain was his own dignity. 

So he isolated himself a little bit, and the final was bad enough in and of itself. He went to Ibiza with Jan and fucked his way around the island, a different girl in his bed every night, anything to get his mind off the image of Henderson lifting that trophy and Dele’s lips moving around the word ‘Ruby’. 

Jan was worried about him. He made a joke about Eric’s cock falling off, but Eric didn’t laugh. “Haven’t had sex for ages, have I?” He spat meanly. “Fucking waiting for something that’s never going to come.” Jan clapped his shoulder sadly and said he was there whenever Eric needed him. Eric shrugged him off. He didn’t need _anyone_. 

Eric shuddered at the memory and put down his toothbrush. He regretted being so short with Jan. Jan was a good friend and a solid ally to have, and pushing him away would do no good. It was Dele that Eric needed space from, needed to put at arm’s length. 

They barely spoke over the summer. Dele texted a couple times right after the final, and Eric ignored him. Dele got the hint, stopped messaging. Eric did his best not to feel like he was jumping off the edge of a cliff without a parachute. 

It was so hard to ignore the voice in his head telling him that he was throwing away something special by doing this, by ghosting Dele. It was hard to ignore the part of himself that believed Dele could change, was only struggling with his own sexuality; that the secret, hidden moments meant what Eric wanted them to - lingering glances and soft touches, shared beds and hard dicks and the flirting, constantly. It was hard to believe that all those things didn’t mean Dele loved him back. 

Eric worked hard to ignore all that, because he was falling apart living like this. He was dying a slow and painful death existing as Dele’s plaything, putting himself out there just to receive nothing in return. He couldn’t do it any longer. 

Eric left the bathroom and pulled on some clothes. Millie - or was it Emily? - was still asleep, and Eric hoped that by the time he got back from his run with the dogs she’d be gone. Awkward small talk wasn’t his thing, and besides, he could barely remember what they’d done last night. He could barely remember anything, these days, time slumping into one big fuzzy fever dream. 

Eric grabbed his keys, his dogs, and left, the thought of having long hair again buzzing around his brain on a loop. 

*** 

Their first day back at Spurs, Dele didn’t even look at Eric. 

Seeing him made Eric’s stomach twist like it always did, that silent thrill that only love gave. Eric could barely look at Dele for extended periods of time. Not only did sadness creep in, _longing,_ but anger too. Dele’s girlfriend didn’t love him properly, not how Eric did. Eric wanted to _worship_ him, for fuck’s sake. It was unjust. 

But things were made easy by the fact that Dele was giving Eric the cold shoulder right back. Eric was a little sad about it, actually, but there was a little piece of him that knew if Dele was angry at him then he was thinking of him more than if Eric was just a friend. Just friends was passive, safe. Enemies was _something._

“What’s wrong with you and Del?” Kane asked carefully, ever the captain with or without his armband. Ever the good person. 

“Nothing,” Eric shrugged, eyes on the grass. “Think we’ve probably just grown out of each other.” 

He sat on the floor of the shower later that night and let himself cry. Maybe Dele _had_ outgrown him. The thought was devastating. It made Eric feel helpless and pathetic, and he went to bed at 8pm that night just so he could stop thinking about Dele moving on and Eric staying stuck in the past. 

*** 

It was only a couple of weeks in that Dele’s hamstring injury flared up again. 

Eric was used to being out for health issues, even starting this season off with a little scare. He knew he wasn’t going to be first choice to play anymore, knew Poch didn’t even really rate him that highly. He used to be able to get through that because he had Dele, but now he couldn’t even lean on him. He had to deal with it himself. 

Dele being injured though, it always hurt Eric more than being injured himself. 

Dele was better than Eric, there was no denying it. He was born to play football, and seeing him rendered unable to do so caused Eric’s heart to constrict. Once upon a time he’d have spent a lot of time and effort soothing Dele, supporting him through his injury. Now they weren’t even speaking. 

He drank a couple of glasses of whiskey that night. Good stuff, a hundred quid a bottle. Scottish. He fell into an uneasy sleep, images rolling behind his eyes, hyper realistic. Dele, lying on Eric’s bed, groaning as Eric dug his finger tips into the backs of his thighs, massaging the knots. Eric knew he probably shouldn’t touch, that he was probably doing more undue harm to Dele’s hamstring than was necessary, but he couldn’t help himself. Dele’s skin was always like butter under his hands and Eric tingled where they touched, daring himself to reach a little higher, press a little harder. 

He moved his fingers up over Dele’s glutes, head swimming when Dele’s breath hitched and he pushed into Eric’s hands, willing him to take handfuls of ass and squeeze, and Eric did, and Dele was clearly hard and pressing into the bed and - 

Eric woke with a start, forehead damp with sweat. His heart thumped as he gasped for air, his bedroom dark and silent. He became aware of a damp, sticky feeling in his pants and he groaned. Fucking humiliating; a wet dream. Eric stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the shower, switching the dial round to cold and stepping in, allowing the sudden shock to his system to wipe the imagine of Dele writhing on his bed out of his mind. 

He got back into bed, teeth chattering, and willed himself back to sleep. 

*** 

He knew he wasn’t going to get the call up for England, but Dele didn’t either, and there was something comforting and poetic in that. 

Eric didn’t expect to hear from Dele over the two weeks, not really, but he couldn’t stop holding out hope that Dele would send him a text, turn up on his doorstep. Joke about Gareth missing out on the two best footballers in England, lie down with him on the couch like old times, fall asleep with Eric’s hand on his back. 

Dele never made contact. Eric spent international break hanging around his brothers instead, overstaying his welcome on more than one occasion. He did an event with Nike, ran until he threw up, worked on his fitness. 

His hair was getting longer, now. He ran his fingers through it, ignoring the familiar itch to take out the clippers and shear the whole thing off. Dele had loved touching it, once upon a time, his hands stroking at the rough stubble in wonder. 

Dele couldn’t sleep on his own when they travelled for games, and he’d clamber into whoever’s bed he could - sometimes Winksy, sometimes Kane, but more often than not it was Eric’s bed. He’d get himself to sleep rubbing a rhythm into his fingers with Eric’s hair, something about the friction of it giving him comfort. 

Eric never fell asleep first, never content to leave Dele alone when he needed someone. Eric thought about that as he looked at his growing hair. He thought about the love he gave, and he felt tears threaten their presence, his throat tightening. 

He dragged his eyes away from the mirror and made his way down the stairs. His house was quiet, peaceful. It was never like this when Dele was here - it was noisy and messy, lived in. Eric took the milk from the fridge and thought about having someone else live here, someone who wasn’t family. He thought about getting himself a girlfriend or a boyfriend, putting his stupid fucking thing with Dele to bed for good. 

Eric thought about coming out, and his stomach flipped. It was so petrifying he could barely stand imagining it, and yet the liberation he felt surpassed any fear. If he wasn’t going to go down in history as the best footballer in the world, maybe he could go down as the footballer who had paved the way for young men to be okay with their sexuality. Maybe next time two boys at a football club fell in love, it wouldn’t end up like he and Dele had. 

He had sex with a guy during international break, and he even managed not to think about Dele the whole time. His name was Iain and he was very nice, a little bit hipster. They lay together afterwards and Iain smoked a joint, putting it between Eric’s lips lazily and smiling as he inhaled. 

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Iain said after a while, eyes droopy. “Stop punishing yourself.” 

Eric bristled, because how the fuck did this guy know? “No I’m not,” he said. “I’m not at all.” 

“You don’t let yourself enjoy things,” Iain said. “Don’t get me wrong, that was great. But I don’t think you really let go.” 

Eric wanted to say - how the fuck can I let go when I’m not out? How the fuck can I let go when I love someone else? But instead he took another puff of the joint and closed his eyes, content at least with not being alone for once. 

*** 

When they got back to work after international break, Eric felt a little lighter. He was happier and it showed, and it felt like people wanted to be around him more than they had before. Dele kept his distance, but Eric caught him looking over a couple of times, which was better than nothing. 

Winksy regaled Eric with stories about international break over lunch, eyes crinkling with happiness as he spoke. 

“So then me and Chilly put salt in Madders’ tea!” Harry shrieked, hand banging the table. “He was so annoyed, Eric! He was fuming!” 

“Was he?” Eric laughed, happy that Harry was happy. “Is Ben quite silly, then?” 

“Oh yeah. He always has been, even when we was in the under 21s and that. Del’ll know, they’ve been mates for ages!” 

Eric’s smile faltered a little at the mention of Dele, and Harry froze. 

“Oh, uh - I’m sorry. It’s... you still aren’t speaking?” 

Eric shrugged. “We just aren’t that close anymore.” 

Harry frowned, chewing carefully on his food. Eric willed him to drop it and get back to his stories about people Eric didn’t give a fuck about, but then Harry said “He’s miserable without you, I think,” and before Eric could splutter out a response Toby sat down beside them and the moment was gone. 

Eric allowed himself to watch Dele when they resumed training, just for a second. Just to see if Harry was right. Dele looked fine, though. He didn’t look miserable, not when he was jumping all over Danny and practically glowing for the cameras. Eric shook his head. Winks didn’t know what he was talking about. 

*** 

Spurs’ first Champions League game of the new season was to be in Greece. 

Eric half expected not to be invited, but he was given the same marching orders as everyone else, told to be at the airport by 10am, told not to forget his bloody passport. 

He took a seat on the plane and snapped a quick photo of his feet beside his shoes, eager to show his followers that he was going to Greece, too. Getting no play time was shit, but the things people said was even worse. Poch may not play him, but if Eric could show that he was at least part of the team, maybe it’d shut people up a bit. 

They landed in Greece and were right out to do media and training. Eric thrived in warm weather, and he knew he looked good in the new grey training kit. He mucked around with Sonny for ages, joked with Jan. His form was pretty good, too, better than it had been. 

Hugo caught up with him as they made their way off the pitch and patted his shoulder. “You seem to be in good spirits, Dier,” he said. “Keep it up, and you could see more playing time, yes?” 

Eric smiled and nodded at Hugo. He thought about that as he made his way through the hotel to his room. Maybe it was the weather, maybe it was having his hair back. Maybe it was his health deciding to finally cooperate for once, maybe it was luck. But maybe, Eric thought, maybe it was that he was finally ready to get over his best friend. 

***

They had a team dinner in a large dining room in their hotel. Eric would’ve liked something Greek, but a Spurs chef had been flown out with them and it was the usual chicken pasta designed for loading them up with carbs before a game. 

Eric was nestled in beside Gazzaniga and Winks, and they were talking about the third kit. 

“It’s just not a good look for me,” Paulo shrugged. “The collar, you know?” 

“Shut up,” Winksy scoffed. “Everything’s a good look on you, Paulo!” 

“You flatter me,” Paulo grinned. “But really, it is not for me. I will hope I never play in it.” 

“I just dunno if I should button it all the way up or not,” Harry said, sighing. “You don’t button it up do you?” 

Eric shook his head. “Feel like I can’t breathe if it’s all done up.” 

“That is because you have such a big neck,” Paulo laughed, putting his hand on the back of Eric’s neck. 

“Poor guy can’t fit in his kit,” Harry added, squeezing Eric’s bicep. “What a hard life you have, mate, being so big and handsome.” 

Eric laughed, shaking them off. “Shut up,” he said, smiling. He was about to tell Harry that he should definitely button it all the way up when someone snorted rudely across the table. 

All three of them looked over at Dele, who was looking at them meanly, face twisted into something that made Eric feel uneasy. 

“You okay Del?” Harry said, taking his hand off Eric’s arm. 

“More than okay,” Dele replied. “Have some dignity though Winksy, yeah?” 

“What?”

Dele didn’t reply. He got up and left, and if anyone else noticed they didn’t say anything, too attuned to whatever it was that was going on with Dele and Eric to be surprised by it. Eric’s ears burned as he looked down at his plate, appetite suddenly non existent. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Paulo asked gently. 

“No,” Eric said, mortified. “No. But Winksy, you should do your buttons all the way up. It looks good like that.” 

Harry smiled. “Yeah, I think I will. Thanks, Eric.” 

“And you have more dignity than anyone at this fucking table,” Eric added before getting up himself, making his goodbyes and disappearing to his bedroom. 

He lay on his bed with the window open and stared up at the ceiling for ages. This was what Dele did, fucked with him and left Eric reeling every time. Eric’s mind told him it was jealousy Dele was displaying, and the thought of it was warm and nice, hot and sudden - but then there was the other voice in his head reminding him that Dele was straight, and he didn’t like Eric like that. 

And yet, and yet, and yet. 

Eric rolled onto his stomach and stuffed his face into the pillows. It was late, and he should sleep, and if he thought he was definitely playing tomorrow he’d take a shot of something to knock himself out. His skin was clammy under the sheets, the night outside still and breezeless. 

He thought about having a wank but didn’t trust himself not to let his mind wander, not when he was in such close proximity. There was a hotel gym they’d been given access to, and Eric was seconds away from pulling a pair of shorts on and going down to run on the treadmill when there was a knock at his door. 

He froze, listening. It could’ve been another door, could’ve been in his head. Could’ve been on the wall or the room above or - 

The knock came again, quieter, and Eric was out of bed, moving through the dark of his room to the door, pulse thudding in his ears. He braced himself for a second and then opened it a crack, peering out into the light of the hall. 

Dele was stood there staring down at his feet. He looked pained, like this was hard for him. Eric wanted to shake him, tell him that none of this was as hard for Dele as it was for Eric. He was overcome with rage suddenly, infuriated by the fucking look on Dele’s face. 

“What do you -“ 

“I can’t sleep,” Dele got out, shaking his head, eyes still on the floor. “Kane’s already asleep and I don’t - I can’t - Eric,” he gasped, looking up at last, eyes full and heavy. “Don’t make me -“ 

Eric stepped back and opened the door, shoulders deflating. He couldn’t say no, not when Dele needed him. It didn’t matter what Eric wanted or what was best for him, not when Dele was at his door like this, after a summer of being ignored by Eric, still coming to him because he couldn’t settle when he was somewhere unfamiliar. Eric closed the door sadly, feeling simultaneously like he had failed and like he had won. 

He got into bed again, this time lying on his side. This time with Dele in his bed too, closer than he had been for months. They were quiet for a while, looking at each other. _How did we get here?_ Eric wanted to ask. _Where did we go wrong?_

“Your hair,” Dele said, barely a whisper. 

“Yeah,” Eric replied. 

“You’re growing it again.” 

It was silent for a beat, and then - “Come here,” Eric breathed, his voice cracking. 

Dele moved instantly and they came together in the middle of the bed, Dele’s thighs falling apart how they always did to accommodate Eric, unthinking and automatic. He sank a hand into Eric’s hair, pulling on it a little, their faces inches apart on the pillow. 

“I miss you,” Dele whispered. Eric knew it didn’t really count - nothing they did in the quiet silence of hotel bedrooms ever did - but his stomach flipped anyway. 

Eric slid his hand onto the small of Dele’s back. He didn’t say it back, because Dele knew that Eric spent every minute of his sorry existence missing him. “You were a dick to Winksy,” he said instead. 

“He fancies you,” Dele replied, the pads of his fingers stroking Eric’s head gently. “You’re so big, Ewic,” Dele mocked, earning a soft laugh from Eric. 

“You’re a twat,” Eric said, but there was no bite to it. He was getting hard against Dele’s thigh, just from having him here, just from the smell of him. He was half embarrassed about it because Dele could definitely feel it, and things were a little different now than the last time they had done this. Eric shifted his hips a little, trying to move it off Dele so that he’d feel a little less awkward, but Dele followed him, slotting his own cock against Eric’s hip. He was hard, too, and he was showing Eric - showing him that this, at least, hadn’t changed. They were still on the same page, at least in bed in foreign countries. 

Dele sighed and let his eyes fall closed, his fingers moving more slowly. “I wish you weren’t angry at me.” 

Eric swallowed. _I wish you were in love with me. _ “Go to sleep,” he said, tilting their foreheads together. “It’s late.” 

Eric waited until Dele’s breathing had levelled out before he let himself drift off. It was easier to fall asleep now, but Eric didn’t want to think about how weak that fact made him. He stroked the knobs of Dele’s spine and breathed in the smell of his skin, moved a toe against his calf. He was asleep before he could count backwards from 10. 

When he woke up the next morning, Dele was already gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of homophobia. Nothing crazy, but it’s in there

Spurs lost a 2-0 lead against Olympiakos, and they boarded the plane home with a cloud over their heads. 

Dele didn’t so much as look at Eric the day after coming to his hotel room, and Eric wasn’t surprised. He didn’t think falling asleep together was going to be the thing that made Dele want him, and it had been Eric’s decision that they not be close anymore. Their distance was entirely Eric’s own doing. 

He’d at least expected Dele to be there when he woke up, though. Lying in Dele’s lingering body heat felt torturous, and Eric hated himself for letting him in. He’d have to start all over again, now, to forget how his skin felt and how his hair smelled. 

Eric sat in the stands and watched Dele play, and he kept his distance after the game. The mood in the changing room was low, annoyance radiating off them all in waves. Eric saw Lamela shooting daggers at Eriksen, and it made something lurch inside him. They were falling apart, losing their cohesion; if it wasn’t he and Dele it was someone else, it was a player versus Poch, it was them versus the fans. 

On the flight home Eric stuck his headphones in and thought about what it would do to the club if he came out publicly. Things were already so tense, and he knew Poch would be furious at him. Maybe it could wait, coming out - he’d already spent his entire career in the closet. What did it matter if he waited until another club bought him, somewhere small and unaffected by having homosexuals play for them. 

He laughed as the thought crossed his mind. There was no club on the planet who’d be unaffected by having a gay player. So maybe he had to retire, call it a day. Maybe being who you were and playing football wasn’t mutually exclusive. And then he thought - _why should I expect things to be different if I’m not willing to be the change?_

The second he was off the plane, Eric texted his manager. _Need to have a chat. I’ve made a big decision._

*** 

His management team told him it was a bad idea. They said it was going to end his career, make him unsafe, harm Spurs. They said it’d harm the England NT, too, and he could kiss the call up goodbye. 

Eric did his best not to cry - he was already coming out as gay, he didn’t need to give them any more fuel - and said that he didn’t care. He’d made up his mind, he was going to tell his family and friends, and he was going to come out. 

His family knew he liked men, but Eric still had to warn them that he was coming out. This would affect their lives, too, and he hated that that was the case. His mum held him and cried when he told her, saying that she was so proud of him she could burst. Eric cried too, because if his mum thought he was doing the right thing then none of the rest of it mattered. Not a single other opinion mattered. 

When Eric sat down in front of Poch, Levy and a few other executives, his hands were shaking so badly he had to hide them under his thighs. 

“I’m going to be coming out as a bisexual man,” he said with a shaky voice. “I’m going to do it in two weeks. I’d be grateful for the support of my club, a club who has claimed to champion LGBT rights in the past. It’d be nice to see that put in practice, now.” 

Everyone’s face had been pinched, measured. No one was happy, Eric knew, but they couldn’t say anything negative. Poch pursed his lips and nodded. 

“Okay,” he said. “We support you, of course. But you - you cannot keep it private?” 

Eric shook his head. “I can’t live a lie anymore.” 

“Fine. But it is on you, whatever happens,” Levy said, getting up and leaving without a second glance. 

Eric drove home from the meeting feeling deflated and bone tired. Lucas phoned him as he was driving and Eric answered, desperate to hear a friendly voice. 

“Lucas?” 

“Dier! Did I just see you leave the grounds?” 

Eric took a deep breath. “Yeah, probably. Sorry mate, my head’s in the clouds.” 

“Everything is okay? You sound weird.” 

Eric felt like he was going to cry again, and he gripped the steering wheel. “Yeah. No, I’m -“ 

“Are you headed home? I am coming over. You can make me dinner.” 

“Lucas, I -“ 

“I will be there in thirty minutes. See you soon, Eric!” 

He was gone, and Eric let out a choked off sob. Maybe being alone right now was a bad idea, anyway. 

*** 

Lucas was quiet when Eric told him what he planned to do. He put his hand on top of Eric’s and squeezed, and in Portuguese said “This is going to be very tough.” 

Eric nodded sadly. “Yeah. Not as hard as living like this, though. I can’t do it anymore.” 

“And does... does he know?” 

Eric looked away. He knew who Lucas meant, but he didn’t want to talk about that. “Yeah, Poch knows. He wasn’t happy, but they’re going to support me.” 

“That’s not what I -“ 

“I can’t. I don’t - how’s your son?” 

Lucas looked like he didn’t want to let it go, but he knew Eric was serious. He sighed sadly and started telling Eric about his family, and the moment was gone. Lucas didn’t leave until he was sure Eric was okay later that night, and Eric held him tight in the doorway. No matter what, you could always count on Lucas. 

*** 

Spurs somehow managed to lose another lead in their game against Leicester, and tensions were rising. 

Poch had left Dele out of the lineup, too. Dele didn’t seem to understand why, and something like fear twisted in Eric’s chest. _Is this because of me?_ he thought. _Is Poch trying to distance the club from my sexuality?_

Everyone knew about the Deledier stuff. It had been a joke at first, had even got them booked on gogglebox like they were real celebrities. But then Eric - and the public, it seemed - had started to take it seriously, and being gay was only okay so long as it was a funny little joke. The minute it was serious, it was threatening and wrong and taboo. Eric rolled with the punches, but he knew it bothered Dele. He’d shy away from the cameras and refused to interact on social media, and Eric wouldn’t have minded if it wasn’t so humiliating. 

So maybe Poch was anticipating the backlash that was sure to come when Eric came out and that was why he had benched Dele. Eric let his head fall between his knees, dizzy and nauseous. He considered once again calling the whole thing off, waiting until he was retired. Maybe this was selfish of him, maybe the whole thing was an immature fantasy, maybe - 

“You okay, mate?” 

Eric looked up. It was Dave, one of the kit men, and he was looking at Eric with concern. 

“Feel a bit under the weather,” Eric lied. “Just uh - I just need a drink of water.” 

Paulo was there next, hand on Eric’s thigh. “All good?” 

“Yeah,” Eric nodded. “Fine. Excuse me for a second.” 

He threw up in the toilets, the weight of what he was going to do almost too heavy to bare. 

*** 

Eric chose to come out via Instagram post. 

He wasn’t comfortable giving the story to the press, and he didn’t want to do a statement or a press conference. He’d come out on Instagram, on his own terms, in his own way; and then it’d be out there for people to do what they wanted with. 

The post was a rainbow flag with the caption _Spurs player. England penalty shootout winner. Brother, friend, son. Bisexual. _ It was short and to the point, and he posted it with his sister holding his hand, his family sat around his living room. He pressed send with a shaking hand and then turned his phone off, and they all had a chippy. 

When Eric looked at his phone the next morning, he was so nervous his vision was blurring. Just as he thought, the hate was vitriolic and evil - people calling him names he hadn’t ever even heard before, saying he was a disgrace, saying he had no place at Spurs. It was there in spades, but there was also an outpouring of love, and Eric chose to focus on that. 

He had endless texts from teammates and other players, all supportive. There was a text from Stones that said _your braver than I am, but your not alone. Thank you, mate._ and that made Eric cry. 

Spurs and England had both made statements of support, and there were so many comments and notifications across social media of solidarity. Eric cried for a while in bed, and then his tears turned to laughter. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest and he could breathe for the first time in his life. He filled his lungs, emptied them. This was how it felt having no secrets. It was liberating. 

He got to training early, planning to get out of the changing room before it got busy so as not to make anyone uncomfortable. Sissoko was already there and he looked up at Eric with wide eyes when he walked in, face expressionless. Eric’s stomach dropped and he smiled politely, feeling his cheeks heat up. He turned his back and bent down to untie his laces when Moussa came up behind him, pulling him roughly by the elbow. 

Eric prepared for mean words or a fist, maybe, to collide with him, but instead Moussa pulled him into his chest and gave him an almighty bear hug. 

“You don’t care?” Eric said into his shoulder, relief settling in his gut. 

Moussa pushed him back and looked at Eric like he was crazy. “We all knew, you idiot.” 

Eric laughed. “Oh.” 

Moussa shook his head and moved back to where he was sitting. “You English boys. You are all so stupid.” 

Sonny was there next, and he hugged Eric with tears in his eyes. Winksy brought Eric a card with a glittery penis on the front, Lloris gave a speech about sexuality being irrelevant. Poch pulled Eric into the head office before training started and they talked press for a bit, but they were mostly pretty nice. 

Dele came in late. He didn’t look at Eric once, and his jaw was set so tight it was a wonder he wasn’t giving himself a migraine. Eric felt sick suddenly, averting his eyes when Kane pulled Dele into a hug and held him tight. 

Dele avoided him harder than he ever had, and Eric did his best not to have a panic attack in the bathroom. So Dele wasn’t going to speak to him on the scariest day of his life. Maybe too much water had gone under the bridge, or maybe it wasn’t as big of a deal as Eric thought it was. 

But then, as he was making his way to the car at the end of the day, the sound of his name washed over him like cold water. 

“Eric!” 

Eric turned. Dele was stomping towards him, anger radiating off him, his shoulders set squarely. “Del?” 

“Fuck you,” Dele spat, putting his hands in the centre of Eric’s chest and shoving at him. “Fuck you, you selfish _prick._” 

“What?!” 

“Everyone thinks I’m gay now, too,” Dele hissed. “Had to turn my fucking Instagram comments off, Twitter’s a blood bath. You only think about yourself, don’t you?” 

Eric shook his head, dumbfounded. _I only think about you._

“You couldn’t have fucking warned me? No, of course you couldn’t. I should never - I should never have fucking been friends with you. This is toxic, you are _toxic._” 

“Enough.” Jan was there, and he was pulling at Dele. Eric couldn’t stop staring at the hate on Dele’s face, vision blurring with tears. “Hey? Enough. Move.” 

Dele let Jan pull him away, his own face crumpling as he looked at Eric one last time. Eric didn’t remember how he got home. He could’ve written his car off for all he knew. He lay down on his bed in the dark and focussed on breathing. 

The saddest part of all was how he’d let Dele break his heart a thousand times over, and he wasn’t even angry at him for it. 

*** 

His DMs became full of fit men, which was pretty nice. He messaged a couple of them back because he could, now, but none of them gave him much of a thrill. 

His emails and Twitter DMs were full of journalists asking for a statement or offering an interview. Eric’s agents told him ITV wanted to arrange a televised interview, but he wasn’t interested. He didn’t want to create a circus of it all, didn’t want to impact on Dele any harder than he already had. 

Jack Grealish came out five days after Eric did. Eric phoned him with a shaking hand, utterly in disbelief. 

“Eric!” 

“Jack, mate - I just saw the news. How are you feeling?” 

“Amazing, honestly. Feel free. Wouldn’t have done it without you, though, buddy.” 

Eric felt a warm glow spread through his chest. Maybe he had done the right thing after all. “You’d have done it,” he said softly, smiling so wide it hurt. “You’re fearless.” 

“Let’s get our heads together soon, mate, yeah?” Jack said. “Do some planning. Strike whilst the iron’s hot, right?” 

Eric didn’t know what Jack was getting at, but he agreed anyway, and then hung up. He wasn’t the only gay footballer anymore. 

He wasn’t alone. 

*** 

Eric saw the articles about him and Dele. 

There were loads, suddenly, all speculating. He had his lawyers ask for every single one to be removed, but still they cropped up. It wasn’t the articles that were the main problem, either, it was the constant stream of commentary from normal people, moments picked apart and analysed. 

The straw that broke the camel’s back was a tweet from Piers Morgan. 

@PiersMorgan  
Spurs can’t win any trophies so they made Eric Dier come out to cover up abysmal form this season. I wonder how long before they make his boyfriend Alli join him out of the closet? 

Eric saw red. He didn’t consult anyone before he tweeted himself: 

@ericdier   
I am not now nor have ever been seeing any of my teammates romantically. Anyone suggesting otherwise needs to remember we are all human and deserve to be treat as such 

@ericdier  
And Piers Morgan is a fucking spanner 

After that, he felt a little bit better. He heat up his dinner and caught up on Bake Off, and he was dozing off during the technical challenge when there was a knock at his door. 

No one could get up to his door without knowing the code for his gate, and no one really knew where he lived who didn’t know him, but still a sense of unease descended on him. He got up slowly and checked his phone - it was 9:16pm, and it was dark outside. 

He went to the door with the dogs at his feet. They could sense his anxiety, their ears pricked up. Eric tapped on the security system next to the door and brought up the front camera, and his mouth fell open. 

He yanked open the door and Dele burst into his house, tripping over the dogs and exploding in a scene of noise and aftershave and presence. Eric locked the door with a dry mouth as Dele greeted the dogs. They were whining a bit from missing him, and Eric wondered how undignified it would be if he suddenly started making those noises and kissing Dele all over the face, too. 

His thoughts were stopped dead when Dele got to his feet and shot Eric a look. Eric followed him dutifully into the living room, perching awkwardly on the arm of the sofa and watching as Dele paced in front of the TV. 

“You,” Dele began, stopping suddenly and glaring at Eric. “Do you have sex with men?” 

Eric gaped at him. He could tell Dele was a little drunk, his words just garbled enough that it was obvious to anyone who knew him well. The question rankled Eric and made something in him flare with anger. He folded his arms and said “Why? Scared you’re going to catch something off me? Fuck you.” 

“How does it even fucking work? Who’s the girl?” 

Eric blinked at him. “What? No one’s the girl. That’s the point.” 

“If you fuck blokes, why haven’t you fucked me?” 

Dele looked like he was genuinely hurt that Eric hadn’t shagged him, and Eric wanted to scream. “Why haven’t I fucked you? I’m not a fucking rapist. Why are you doing this? Why are you here right now?” 

“Is that why you stopped speaking to me, then? Thought I wouldn’t put out, so you decided my friendship wasn’t good enough?” 

Eric opened his mouth to respond and closed it again. It wasn’t why, of course that wasn’t why; but it also kind of was. Hearing it put so frankly made him feel sick, ashamed. He tried to repeat his mantra to himself - you needed to for your own sanity, it wasn’t healthy, you were losing the plot - but all he could see was the hurt in Dele’s eyes. 

“What’s it like?” Dele breathed, coming closer. “What’s it like fucking men?” 

Eric felt like he was going to cry. Dele was toying with him, fucking around; Eric was pathetically hopeless. “Del,” he said, but it was choked. 

“Why don’t you show me? I’ve got it up for you in the past, haven’t I?” 

Eric cringed at Dele’s acknowledgement of what happened when they got in bed together. It was wrong, discussing it in the light of Eric’s sitting room, Bake Off paused on the TV behind them. All of this was wrong. 

“Dele, I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink.” 

“I watched some porn. It made me horny, actually. What does that mean? When boys shagging makes me horny?” 

He was moving closer, and all Eric could do was blink at him. 

“So tell me, what do I have to do? To get you hard? I can’t touch your clit. I can’t touch your tits. What do you like?” 

“Dele,” Eric said, his heart dropping. “Please don’t -“ 

Dele stepped between his legs and pulled at Eric’s wrists, placing his hands on Dele’s hips. “You want me, don’t you? Eric?” 

Eric couldn’t look at him. He frowned at Dele’s chest, words failing him. Dele put his hand on Eric’s face and tilted his head upwards, forcing eye contact. 

“Did I get it wrong?” 

“Del, _please_.”

Dele dropped to his knees and let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressed to the inside of Eric’s thigh. Eric could feel his cock reacting to having Dele so close to it, and he willed himself not to get hard. This wasn’t the time, this wasn’t the moment - this wasn’t how it was going to happen. Not like this. 

“Maybe you just don’t know what to do with me,” Dele breathed. 

He moved and pressed his mouth to the outline of Eric’s dick. He looked up, eyes devastatingly big and wide, his pupils blown. Eric couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t a single part of his body that wanted to push Dele away right then, and he bit his cheek so hard he tasted blood. 

“Dele. I mean it, stop.” 

Dele looked hurt. He frowned and got up, putting space between them. His chest was heaving and he was clearly getting hard, too. Eric wanted to take him to bed and protect him, keep him under the sheets for the rest of time. Dele would be safe as long as Eric could keep him in his bed. 

“It’s not that I -“ 

“Forget it,” Dele said. “I’m gonna go.” 

“Let me drive you home.” 

“No thanks,” Dele replied, already on his way to the door. “I don’t need you anymore.”


	3. Chapter 3

“You are going to play on Tuesday. And you will be captain.” 

Eric stared at Poch, words failing him. “Uh... captain of what?” 

“The team, Eric. Captain of Spurs.” 

Eric hadn’t even played a single minute of the league this far, never mind playing as captain.  
“What? Why?” 

“Why not?” Poch said, waving a hand. “You are a senior member of this team. You have the leadership ability. Why not?” 

Eric could think of a thousand reasons why not. He could think of a million reasons why it shouldn’t be him, and he was about to start listing them off to Poch when the coach got up and nodded his goodbyes, leaving Eric sat in something like shock. 

He wandered into the canteen in a daze. He initially wanted to sit beside Dele and whisper Poch’s words in his ear, share the news with him before anyone else. As it was, Dele hadn’t so much as looked at him since turning up at Eric’s house the other day, so that option was off the table. 

Eric sat beside Harry Kane instead and murmured “Poch wants me to be captain,” excitement barely contained. 

Harry grinned at him. “That’s amazing, buddy. How do you feel?” 

Eric picked at the paper on his water bottle and shrugged. “Good. Nervous. Different now, isn’t it? Cos I’m out.” 

Harry knocked his knee against Eric’s under the table. “Yeah. But let them say their worst. Let them try. You’re the one who’s winning.” 

Eric bit his lip and nodded. He looked up then, across at Dele, and his heart squeezed when he saw Dele looking back at him. 

“How’s he doing?” Eric asked Harry quietly. 

Harry shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. “Not great, mate. He’s been getting bombarded with it all.” 

“That wasn’t my intention,” Eric said desperately. “I didn’t mean -“ 

“I dunno if he knows that,” Harry replied. “You didn’t really communicate with him before it happened.” 

Eric had the weirdest feeling that Harry was annoyed at him somehow, like maybe he was on Dele’s side. Eric picked up his tray suddenly and said “I’m off,” leaving before Harry had a chance to say anything else. 

*** 

Eric felt good with the captain’s arm band on. It felt nice against his bicep, tight and just right, like it belonged. He was a good leader, and he thrived when he was in charge; had a place to channel his aggression. 

They lined up in the tunnel and Eric did his best to leave any personal grievances at the door. He wasn’t a gay man here, he wasn’t someone who was in love with his best friend. He wasn’t a book lover, an uncle, a dog owner. He was a football player, he was the captain. He was going to lead Tottenham to victory. 

** 

“That was fucking embarrassing,” Eric spat, staring down at the grass. _What the fuck just happened?_

The tension in the changing rooms was so thick it was tangible. Poch was so angry he wasn’t even speaking. Everyone was glaring at each other accusatorially, at Eric more than most. There had been some slurs slung Eric’s way, all the usual jibes - but they’d mostly bounced off him in light of the abysmal game Spurs had just played. 

“We need to forget the idea that being a top premier league team means you can’t be beat by lower league teams,” Danny Rose piped up suddenly. “It’s not fucking embarrassing, it’s just that they played really good. All of you need to stop feeling sorry for yourselves.” 

He was right, Eric knew. He nodded slowly, turning the words over in his mind, and wasn’t expecting it when Dele spoke next. 

“What? How the fuck is not embarrassing? You’re deluded, mate,” Dele snapped. “We’re a state. The whole team is a fucking circus.” 

“No, you’re the one who’s a fucking state,” Danny barked back. “Letting your fucking ego get in the way of the game. It’s pathetic.” 

Dele opened his mouth to retort, mouth twisted in a cruel line, but Eric was there. “Out!” He shouted, pushing Dele in the centre of the chest. “Now!” 

Dele looked at him like he wanted to argue, and Eric thought he was going to; they were going to have it out right here, right now. But then he went, slamming the door hard enough to shake the wall. Eric followed him, heart racing, calling after him as Dele stomped down the corridor. 

“Fuck off,” Dele said, rounding on Eric. “You. Fuck off.” 

“We need to talk,” Eric said, pleading. “This needs to stop!” 

“You need to stop! You need to stop all of it. You need to fucking stop, Eric. You need to STOP!” 

Eric looked at him, chest heaving. He wanted to reach out and bring him in close to his body, because he knew Dele lashed out when he was scared and he needed to be comforted. He couldn’t move, though, frozen to the spot. He couldn’t just touch anymore, not now that he was out. Dele blinked at him like he was waiting for something, and the moment seemed to stretch out like toffee, bending out of shape the longer it lasted. 

“Leave me alone,” Dele muttered finally, turning and leaving, still in his dirty kit. 

*** 

It took another humiliating loss, this time against Bayern, for Eric to decide he deserved a drink. 

He went out with his brothers to a pub quiz. The plan was to stick to two slim line gin and tonics, but after the music round the weight of the last few weeks was heavy enough to push him into harder stuff, whiskey over ice that slid down into his stomach far too easily. It was warm and burned him just right, and before he knew it Eric was a little bit tipsy. 

After the quiz, which they came third in, Eric got talking to a girl; a student. She was gorgeous in a natural way, just how Eric liked them, and she was studying public policy. Eric listened with fascination as she told him about how data was used to create and shape policy decisions.

“God, I’m rambling, and this is so boring,” she blushed, eyelashes fluttering. 

Eric grinned at her, his stomach lighting up warmly. “No,” he said. “It’s fascinating. Please keep talking.” 

So she did, and Eric didn’t even notice it when his brothers left. He stumbled home with the girl, kissing against walls and her door and falling into the house, taking her there on the living room floor, tingling when she whispered “My housemates could walk in any moment.” 

Her body was soft and warm, giving and welcoming, and he almost, _almost_ forgot about how badly his heart was hurting when he was inside her. She came first and he followed, collapsing in a half dressed heap on the carpet. 

“Will you stay?” She whispered, fingers carding through the hair on the back of his head. And that was too much, too close to a memory, so he shuffled away, shaking his head. 

“I’m gonna head off,” he said sheepishly, pulling his trousers up. “Just gonna make a phone call.” 

Eric sat down on the closed toilet and breathed out a shaky breath. His head was spinning a little, but he didn’t know if it was from the alcohol or from the adrenalin of what he was about to do. He scrolled through his contacts with a shaky thumb and clicked on Dele’s name. The phone rang, and Eric waited. He didn’t expect Dele to answer - he never did at two in the morning, not for anyone - but then came a croaky “Hello?” and all the air rushed from the bathroom like a black hole. 

“I need a lift,” Eric said, made confident by the whiskey in his system. 

Dele was silent. Eric checked he was still on the line - he was - and said “I’ll send you my location. Can you pick me up?” 

“Okay,” Dele said quietly. “Send it to me now, yeah?” 

Eric hung up and did as Dele told him, his heart hammering against his ribs. It would be twenty minutes before Dele arrived, but Eric wanted him there NOW. Twenty minutes was too long, too long to back out or change his mind. Twenty minutes was too long to over think, to second guess, to - 

“Are you alright in there?” 

Eric remembered where he was suddenly. He flushed the toilet and washed his hands, going through the motions, and went out into the hall to face the girl. He realised he didn’t even know her name, but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad. 

“I’m gonna head off shortly.” 

“Okay,” she said with a smile. “Can I - your number? Or something?” 

Eric nodded and reached out for her phone. He was sure he’d put the wrong number in, unable to type very well, and he told himself that if it was meant to be then it would be. 

He waited by the window for Dele’s Range Rover to arrive in the street. When it did, exhaust humming in the silent night, Eric had to bite his tongue not to squeak. He said goodbye hastily to the girl and was off into the street, unsure what the fuck he was doing. The night was nippy and fresh, and Dele’s car was warm when Eric slid into it. 

Dele was looking out the window at the building Eric had just come out of. He had a hat pulled down over his ears, and his eyes were tight like he’d been asleep when Eric phoned. 

“Are you drunk?” Dele asked, finally looking at Eric. “You smell of booze. Booze and -“ he stopped, frowning and looking in his rear view mirror before he pulled out into the road again. 

“Booze and what?” Eric asked, splaying his hands out on his thighs. 

“Nothing.” 

Eric’s heart skipped a beat. There had been a time, a while ago, that Eric had come to Dele’s smelling like Winksy. Harry had borrowed a hoodie after a game one night and returned it smelling distinctly Harry-like, aftershave and milky skin and that brand of washing powder Harry’s mother used. Dele had sniffed the air like a blood hound, face screwed up, and took the hoodie off Eric at once. “Don’t like that,” he muttered. “Absolutely not.” Eric wondered if Dele could smell that girl on Eric right now. 

They drove in silence for a couple of moments, and then Eric said “You said, the other night. You said I wouldn’t know what to do with you.” 

Dele cleared his throat and frowned. “Did I?” 

“I think,” Eric began, pulling every inch of courage he possessed out from the depths of his body. “The only fucking thing I know for sure is what to do with you.” 

Dele’s fingers flexed around the steering wheel, and Eric continued. 

“I’ve planned it all out, you see. In my head. Planned it out the minute I met you. How you’d want it. How you’d react. Problem with you, right, is you don’t let yourself enjoy things. So it’d be my job to get you out of your head.” Dele’s was staring ahead, unblinking. “Should I stop talking?” 

Dele raised his shoulder half an inch, and Eric knew it meant that he should keep going. He shifted his hips forward and opened his legs a bit, unfurling now that he was feeling more confident, taking up some room. 

“You’d be a bit of a pillow princess, wouldn’t you? Doesn’t matter with us though, does it. Always been me doing all the work. I like it, so that’s lucky. Anyway, I’ve gotta get you from point A to point B. Gotta get you from this, how you are now, to needy and a little bit desperate. That’s how I’d want you, before I fucked you. Begging me.” 

Eric saw Dele’s adam’s apple bob in the light of a street lamp, but he didn’t speak. Eric pushed on. 

“Do you remember, Del? It was just after Russia, and we were away somewhere, dunno where. I had that packet of Starburst, I’d saved all the pink ones. Do you remember it?” 

Dele didn’t move for a second, and then he did, a tiny, slight nod that anyone else would’ve missed. But not Eric. 

“You begged me,” Eric breathed. “You said please, please let me have it. I’ll do anything. You were so fucking desperate for this sweet. You looked up at me and you pouted, and I think you know what you looked like, didn’t you?” 

Dele sniffed and glanced in the rear view mirror, still not speaking. 

“You said _I’ll be such a good boy for you, Eric,_ didn’t you?” Eric exhaled a breath and adjusted his jeans, which were growing tight around his cock. “I refuse to believe you didn’t know what you were doing to me. I refuse to believe we weren’t both thinking of the same thing.” 

Dele shuddered and licked his lips. Eric could see it every time they passed under a street light - Dele was getting hard, and it was undeniable in the shorts he was in. 

“I’d take my time with you, Del. I’d need days with you, for the first time - it’d take me hours to get you worked all the way up, bit by bit by bit. Couldn’t rush it, not that I’d want to. I’d lay you down and spend hours with my mouth on your skin, from your fucking ankles to your ear lobes. You wanna be centre of the universe, Del? Well in my bed you would be. I’d agonise over your thighs, your fingers; find the pulse in your biceps. You’d be fucking dripping before I’d even got a look at your cock.” 

Eric was sure he heard Dele whimper. He swallowed and went on. 

“I’d make you suck my fingers. And you would, you’d do it. Get them wet and hot and then I’d put them inside you, somewhere different.” 

Dele shifted in his seat. 

“Can you feel it, can you imagine it? Need to be so slow, cos you’d be so tight. Drag it out, make you fucking squirm, Dele. Maybe you’d cry a little bit, cos you needed me so badly. That’s another thing you said. Said you don’t need me anymore, but if I had you like that, if I had you under me. You’d need me so bad, you couldn’t breathe.” _You’d know how I feel, all the fucking time._

Eric looked out the window. They were in his street, pulling up outside his house. He didn’t want to get out of this car, at least not alone. He was overstepping all sorts of boundaries right then, ruining all kind of unspoken treaties, and he just didn’t care. There was nothing left to lose, not really. 

“And then I’d be inside you. It’s funny, cos you live inside me, you know?” Eric tapped his head. “You’re in here. But then I’d be in you, in your body. I’d feel you all around me. And I’d fuck you so fucking hard, baby, you have no idea. I’d ruin you, I promise. In the best way. Can you feel it, Dele? Can you? Can you -“ 

“I broke up with Ruby,” Dele gasped, gripping the wheel white knuckled. “We split up.” 

It was Eric’s turn to be silent. A million thoughts exploded across his brain - this is it, oh my god, what the fuck do I do now. Eric didn’t know if he was dreaming, asleep on that girl’s floor. He shook his head slowly. 

“Do you want to come in and talk about it?” He asked eventually, voice soft. He wanted to reach out and touch, and maybe now, maybe he could - 

“No. Just - get out,” Dele said, looking away. “Sorry. I just. I can’t.” 

“Dele,” Eric said, unclipping his seatbelt and moving closer. “Hey, come here.” 

He pulled Dele’s arms off the wheel, angled their bodies together. Dele looked scared, his pupils blown, and he let his head fall against Eric’s shoulder with a choked off sob, falling against him like he was admitting defeat. Eric rubbed at the back of Dele’s neck, nosing at his hair. He breathed him in and didn’t want to let him go. 

“I shouldn’t... I shouldn’t have gone quiet,” Eric whispered. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.” 

Dele grabbed a handful of Eric’s jumper and gripped it, and Eric thought maybe he was crying. 

“Come inside. Let me look after you, baby, please.” 

“Please just go,” Dele said, hands still full of Eric’s clothes. “Please. I don’t want to do this.” 

Eric pulled back, feeling tears well in his own eyes. He searched Dele’s face - a face he knew better than his own - and before his courage could run out, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to Dele’s gently. When he pulled back Dele’s eyes were closed, and he was frowning. 

“You know where I am,” Eric said, hands wrapping around Dele’s wrists so he’d let go of Eric’s jumper. “You know what I want, Del.” 

Dele didn’t say anything else, and Eric got out the car and watched as it disappeared down the street. He couldn’t go into his house yet, so he sat down on the damp curb side and let his head fall into his hands, replaying the whole thing over and over and over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise to make it all okay again. And I promise not to make you wait so long for the next one xxxx


	4. Chapter 4

Eric had to keep himself busy, because if he didn’t, he spiralled. 

Dele was single, and he had been turned on by Eric’s words in the car, and Eric loved him, and it was all too much. 

Dele was still avoiding him at work, and the realisation made Eric feel sick. He’d allowed himself to believe that they were at a turning point, that maybe a conversation could take place now - around their friendship, around the things they did, around the elephant in the room of their relationship. 

Eric moved around Dele sadly. He kept missing the ball in training, too busy straining his ears for sounds of Dele’s voice or signs that maybe he wanted Eric’s attention. 

“Dier,” Jesus called towards the end of their session. “You are distracted.” 

“Sorry,” Eric huffed. “I’m just -“ 

“Go inside, do some conditioning,” Jesus said flatly. 

Eric dragged his feet all the way inside. He was just going through the motions, barely even paying attention to what he was doing. When the clock on the wall signalled the end of their day he tore out of the gym, clattering down to the changing rooms. 

Dele was in conversation with Kyle. Eric bent over and retied the laces on his shoes, rubbed at his nose, chewed on the inside of his cheek. Kane was staring at him, Eric could feel it, and he steadfastly ignored him. He had to talk to Dele. He had to just ask him - 

“Eric?” 

Eric looked down. Harry Winks was standing there blinking up at him, all flushed like he got after training. 

“Yeah?” 

“I asked if you wanted to come over and hang out.” 

Eric’s eyes flickered automatically to Dele, who was now watching Eric with some interest. Dele’s eyes dropped away as soon as Eric looked at him, and he laughed exaggeratedly at whatever Kyle had just said. Eric looked back at Harry and smiled. 

“I can’t stay for long,” he said. “Just a little while.” 

“Jan’s coming too,” Harry said happily. “He’s cooking.” 

Eric nodded at Harry as he prattled off the list of what Jan was making for dinner, but his eyes were on Dele again, who was zipping up his coat and preparing to leave. 

“Hold on Winksy,” Eric said suddenly, stepping around him and going after Dele. 

“Del?” He called gently, jogging to catch up to him at the door. “I just wanted to check on you.” 

Dele stopped and looked at Eric blankly. “Okay?” He said. “I’m fine. Bye.” 

He moved to keep on walking, but Eric followed him. “Wait. Do you want to talk about it?” 

Dele gawped at him angrily. “Now you want to talk?!” 

“I want to -“ 

“You want to what? Eric? You haven’t - you’ve not spoken to me properly for months. _Months._ And that fucking thing the other night, it doesn’t count.” 

“That’s not fair,” Eric said desperately. “I had to. I needed to -“ 

“You fucking ignore me like I’m a piece of shit and then you come out and don’t tell me. Then you fucking reject me, then you come onto me in the car, and I - what did I do wrong? Why are you doing this to me?” 

“Reject you?” 

“At your house, when I - it doesn’t matter,” Dele hissed, voice dropping. “None of this fucking matters, does it?” 

“It matters. It matters, Dele!” 

“No it doesn’t. I don’t want to talk. Have fun at Harry’s.” 

*** 

Eric and Jan were sat on the couch with Harry sprawled across them, complaining about Spur’s form this season. 

“I fink, though,” Harry said, voice drowsy due to the fact that Eric’s fingers were in his hair. “Poch out is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Not his fault, is it?” 

Jan snorted and tightened his hand around Harry’s ankle. “You are such a teacher’s pet, Winksy.” 

“Am not,” Harry grumbled. “I just don’t reckon the problems lie at his door. Easy to pick on the leader, innit?” 

“Do you get paid extra for being an arse licker, Harry?” Eric joked, smiling widely. 

Harry elbowed Eric in the stomach and Eric flipped him off his lap, half groaning, half laughing. They were still giggling and teasing each other when Jan said “Do you think you and Dele will ever be friends again?” 

Eric shrugged sadly. “I thought it would be easier if we didn’t speak. I thought it would be less painful if I didn’t have to pretend I was fine all the time. But it’s been worse, actually.” He laughed sadly and shook his head. “It’s been worse than ever. And now he hates me.” 

“I dunno if he hates you,” Harry offered. “He’s pissed off, but obviously he’s right to be, ain’t he?” 

Eric frowned at Harry. “Why? Why’s he right to be?” 

“You were his best friend, right?” Jan said carefully. “So, you haven’t really been there for him. For each other, the last while. I think you both have let each other down, maybe. But I don’t know, Eric. None of us know properly.” 

Eric was quiet for a moment. He didn’t know how to articulate what he felt without sounding crazy. He didn’t know how to articulate what he was feeling at all. 

“I don’t know how to talk to him.” 

“Yeah you do,” Harry said earnestly. “Course you do.” 

“He is right,” Jan added. “Just do what you have always done.” 

Eric turned their words over in his mind. _Do what you’ve always done._ What they’d always done was avoidance, what they’d always done was pretend and dance around the issue and - 

“I have to go,” Eric said suddenly, sitting up straight. “I’m sorry. Guys - thank you.” 

“Good luck!” Harry said, clapping his hands together delightedly. “Let me know how it goes!” 

“Good luck, Eric,” Jan said. “You have got this.” 

Eric clung to those words as he drove through London. He didn’t know if this would work, and was about ninety percent sure Dele was going to punch him in the face on sight. Still, he drove through the dark evening with his fingers tight on the wheel, determined to at least _try._

He parked up on the street and let his forehead rest on the steering wheel for a few moments. This felt like a last resort, a last chance. Eric didn’t want to fuck it up. 

He knocked Dele’s door timidly, and then knocked again, much harder. His nose was numb with the cold and his hands were shaking, and he thought that maybe this was a mistake, and he was pushing things too far and too fast - and then the door opened, and Dele was there, shirtless, heat belching out of the house. 

Dele’s face fell when he saw Eric. “I already told you, I don’t -“ 

“Stop fucking _fighting me,_” Eric said forcefully, stepping into the house. “I’m so fucking tired, Dele. We need to talk.” 

“I don’t want to do this,” Dele said, looking pained. 

Eric steeled himself. “Okay. Okay, fine. But just - come and lie down with me for a bit, alright? Please, Dele. I’m begging you.” 

Dele looked pained. He looked at Eric, then at the door, then down at his feet. Eric didn’t want to push him into something he really didn’t want to do, but he couldn’t continue to exist like this, either. He decided to take a chance and turned to move up the stairs, hoping and praying that Dele would lock the door and follow him. 

He was almost at the top of the stairs when he heard Dele sigh and follow him. Eric let go of a breath he didn’t even know he was holding and crept into Dele’s dark bedroom. He pushed his shoes off near the door and navigated the mess of clothes on the floor to make it to the bed. The sheets were crumpled in a big pile but Eric flattened them out as he lay down. When Dele joined gingerly Eric pulled the covers over their heads, settled back against a pillow, and breathed. 

Eric was an expert at getting Dele to open up under the covers, and he licked his lips and began with a quiet whisper. “How was your day?” 

When Dele exhaled his voice was shaking. “Fine. Apart from, obviously, you cornering me after training. That wasn’t fun.” 

Eric thought carefully before he continued. “Does being near me make you uncomfortable? Because of the association? Be honest.” 

“Yeah,” he said, barely audible. “And I’m ashamed of how much of a coward that makes me.” 

“I get it,” Eric said gently. “I understand. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you before I came out. You deserved time to process it.” 

Dele reached out and touched Eric’s shoulder uncertainly, and Eric pulled him in close, moving instinctively between his legs and settling a hand on the small of his back, heavy and warm and reassuring. 

Dele sighed against Eric’s neck. “Yeah. I felt like the world had tipped upside down and I was the last one to know about it.” 

“I didn’t... stop speaking to you because I don’t care about you,” Eric said. Forcing the words out was difficult, and he was grateful that he couldn’t see Dele’s face properly. “You surely know that.” 

Dele tilted his face up so that they were breathing the same air. Eric could hear him swallow. “I wasn’t sure,” Dele breathed. “I wasn’t.” His lips brushed against Eric’s when he spoke. “I thought, maybe...” Dele pressed his lips to Eric’s gently, barely a ghost of a touch. Eric pressed back, a little harder, hand pushing Dele’s hips as close as he could, the beginnings of an erection against his hip. “I think I like men,” Dele sighed into Eric’s mouth. “And I’m so scared of it.” He let his tongue swipe against Eric’s lips. “I’m so jealous of you for being brave enough.” They were kissing then, a little more firm. 

“It’s fucking scary, Del,” Eric breathed, sliding his tongue against Dele’s as soon as the words were out. “But it’s so fucking worth it.” 

Dele pressed closer and let out a little whimper, hips pushing against Eric’s needily. “I miss you so much,” Dele said as he bit down on the flesh of Eric’s bottom lip and tugged at it. “Fuckin’ hate it when you aren’t speaking to me.” Dele moved his mouth to Eric’s jaw, and Eric decided to make up for all the things he hadn’t said. 

“I can’t do anything without thinking of you,” Eric said into the room. His voice was breathier than he would’ve liked it to be, but Dele was pressing kisses along his jawline, so he couldn’t really be blamed. “You fucking know it, too. Don’t pretend you don’t. I want to look after you, fucking baby you, tell you off when you’re being a brat. I want to do everything there is to do with you.” Dele sucked down on Eric’s neck, and Eric let out a half moan. “Don’t ever think I don’t do it all for you. I’d do anything for you.” 

“Then show me,” Dele said, pressing closer, teeth scraping against skin. “Show me how you’d do me.” 

Eric’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as Dele humped down onto Eric’s crotch, hard dicks rolling together. He hadn’t intended for things to turn dirty - this wasn’t how he wanted their first time to be. He didn’t want to be a rebound fuck, or a fascination thing, and he wanted the fucking lights to be on at least. It was so hard to think straight when Dele was kissing at his neck and rutting against him like this, and Eric could barely chase a coherent thought. His mind was scrabbling for purchase on a sentence, but his hands were grabbing at Dele’s ass and squeezing, pulling his hips down, and it was hot and hard to breathe under the covers, and their mouths were sliding together again quick and wet and open - 

“Stop,” Eric panted, dropping Dele. “Please. Hold on - stop.” 

Dele moved back, chest heaving. “Why?” 

Eric shuffled to the edge of the bed and felt blindly for the light switch. He was knocking things from the nightstand to the floor, growing in desperation, when Dele clapped his hands twice and the room filled with light. 

“Eric?” 

“Not like this,” Eric said. Dele’s face fell and Eric’s heart constricted. “Dele, I’ve waited so long -“ 

“So then why not?” Dele’s voice was getting that hard edge to it that meant he was upset. Eric felt panic rising in his chest. 

“I‘m not prepared, Del. I just wanted to -“ 

“Excuses again,” Dele snapped. “You’re all fucking talk, all shirt no trousers. Is this a fucking experiment or something to you? Is this -“ 

“Shut _up_ Dele!” Eric said forcefully. “You think I don’t want to? You think it’s not hard for me to say no? _It’s not the right time!_” 

Dele’s eyes flickered down to the erection in Eric’s trousers, and then back up. “Fine. Okay, fine.” 

“Turn the light off and lie down with me. Just - let’s just lie down, yeah?” 

Dele clapped his hands again, but he was closed off now, and Eric knew it. They lay down gingerly against the mattress, pulled the sheets up. It took some time, but they radiated back together. Dele’s fingers found their way into Eric’s hair, and they dozed off like that, not saying anything, the weight of it all heavy on both of them. 

*** 

Eric ducked out whilst Dele was still asleep early the next morning. He’d have to get back for the dogs, and besides, he didn’t trust himself not to give in to Dele’s desires when he was all sleepy and pliant and desperate. 

He did text him, though. Eric let the dogs out and as he waited for the kettle to boil, he opened Dele’s chat on WhatsApp. Neither of them had spoken in it for so long, and it pained Eric to think of how much they used to say to each other every single day. 

He typed out a message - _popped back to let the dogs out, didn’t want to wake you. tell me what you dreamed about when you get up?_ \- and locked his phone again, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. A smile crept over his face, and he covered it with his hand, letting his eyes close against the warmth spreading through his body. 

*** 

They’d been texting more and more since Eric’s visit. Things had remained largely the same at work - Spurs was still in a slump, and everyone was feeling it - but the tension hanging over them both was gone. It felt new and exciting, like discovering each other all over again. Eric was fascinated by Dele’s decision to get his ear pierced, and Dele couldn’t stop asking questions about Eric’s Open University course. 

Sometimes Dele got quiet for a few hours, and whilst it wasn’t Eric’s favourite thing, he understood that Dele needed space sometimes, especially as they navigated whatever was going on. That’s why Eric wasn’t surprised, a week after staying over at Dele’s house, that he hadn’t heard anything from Dele since lunch time. 

Eric made himself dinner and took the dogs for a walk. He was sat at his kitchen table with text books around him reading up on the politics of climate change when someone knocked furiously at his door. Eric frowned and looked at the time. It was 9pm, and he wasn’t expecting anyone. The dogs barked at his feet and trotted off down the hall, their nails clattering against the wood. 

Whoever was at the door knocked harder. Eric got up and jogged to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open with a horrible sense of foreboding in his chest. 

Dele burst in with his arms wrapped around himself. He was shaking, and his face was a myriad of emotions. 

“What -“ 

“You said it was good,” Dele said. “You said it was supposed to be good.” 

Eric froze. He felt like he’d been doused in ice water, like the room was spinning. He wasn’t sure if he was getting the wrong end of the stick, so he said “What are you getting at, Dele?” In as level a voice as he could. 

Dele’s face crumpled. “Sex. With a man. You said -“ 

“What happened?” Eric hissed. He didn’t trust himself to move. “_Has someone hurt you?_” 

“I wanted to - if you thought it wasn’t my first time, maybe - I wanted to know -“ 

“You’ve been with a man? You’re telling me you’ve what, you’ve fucked someone?” 

“I was going to, but it was horrible, and he was so rough, and -“ 

“Who was it?!” Eric bellowed, making Dele flinch. “I’m phoning the fucking police!” 

He tore down the hall, back towards the kitchen. His vision was blurring dangerously. He banged the kitchen door open so hard it dented the wall and bounced back towards him, just missing him as he scrambled for his phone. He couldn’t get the thing unlocked, and he let out an angry wail, squeezing it in his hand. 

“FUCK!!!” 

“Please,” Dele was saying, crying, grabbing Eric’s arm and holding tight. “He never actually hurt me. We never did anything,” he begged. “I stopped it. Nothing actually happened.” 

Eric could barely hear what Dele was saying. Dele put his hand on Eric’s cheek and tilted their foreheads together, holding Eric in place. “I’m sorry,” Dele said. “I just wanted to know.” 

“What. Happened.” Eric got out, hands hanging in balled up fists by his side. 

Dele breathed out. “I went round to someone’s house. We kissed. I thought he’d ease me into it. He tried to just put it - he tried to put it right in me.” 

Eric closed his eyes and tried to remain calm. “Tell me who it was. Now. I’m going to kill him.” 

“Please,” Dele begged. “I don’t want anything else to do with him. I got away, it doesn’t matter. Please. Can we lie down? I just need to be with you.” 

Eric wanted to say no. He wanted to force Dele to tell him. He wanted to cry and scream. He needed to get the smell of someone else off of Dele, immediately. Eventually he nodded and took Dele’s hand, pulling him up the stairs. He took Dele’s jumper off and then pushed him down onto the bed, crawling up the length of his body, trying to breathe evenly. 

Eric propped himself up on an arm and smoothed his hand against Dele’s hair, the side of his head. He pressed a kiss to his forehead and then a shaky one to his lips. 

“Why did you do that? Why’d you want to fuck a random guy?” 

Dele paused for a moment and composed himself. “I think, maybe, part of the reason you stopped speaking to me is that I - that it was too painful, right? Me being straight and us being how we were and you feeling tortured by it. And you won’t do anything with me, even now, and I just wanted to be able to tell you that I am, you know, into boys, and I’m experienced, and you don’t need to treat me like I’m made of glass. I dunno, it’s stupid.”

“Dele,” Eric whispered. “I am so, so sorry. I am so, so, so fucking sorry.” 

“I’m sorry too,” Dele answered, pressing his cheek into Eric’s hand. “I don’t want to be scared of how I feel anymore.” 

Eric looked Dele over carefully, taking his time to register his features - the scar in his eyebrow, the deep brown of his eyes, the point of his upper lip. “I can show you. If you’d like. I can show you how it’s meant to be.” 

Dele answered by leaning up and kissing Eric’s mouth gently. Eric let Dele lick at him, let him set the pace for a while. The sound of their mouths filled the room, though Eric could barely make it out over the sound of his heart thundering in his ears. 

Once he was sure that Dele was getting hot and needy, Eric broke away from their kiss and sucked down on Dele’s neck, on his collar bones. He tasted milky and clean, and Eric couldn’t stop himself from biting the skin between his teeth in a painful little nip that made Dele arch off the bed. He moved down to his nipples, flicked his tongue, pulled at the hardening little nub. By the time Eric started kissing down his stomach Dele was panting, hands flexing against Eric’s bedsheets. 

Eric had to take a moment to rest his head against Dele’s hip bone. All this time, all this pining, and here he was, about to get his hands on Dele’s cock. His breath came out in rattling gusts. His fingers shook as he hooked them in Dele’s waist band. He looked up, and paused. 

“Are you sure?”

“Please, Eric. Please.” 

Eric pulled, and Dele’s cock sprang free. It was so fucking beautiful - Eric was embarrassed, almost, by how pretty he found it - and his mouth filled with saliva as he spread Dele’s legs apart, kissing the inside of his thighs. He picked up Dele’s cock and put a kiss to the tip of it. Dele whined quietly, and Eric sucked it in properly. He moaned at the taste of it, eyes rolling back. It was so good, so intoxicating, so thick and wet already. Dele gasped and arched his back as Eric sucked hard, the noises he was making pornographic. 

Eric popped off and moved his hand up and down Dele’s length slowly. “How about I get you off with my fingers and my mouth this time, baby, yeah? I don’t know how long I’ll last if i get inside you, and I want to make this good for you.”

“I want you,” Dele panted. “I miss you, so much -“

“I’m here,” Eric said, coming back up and kissing Dele’s mouth. “I’m here. We have time, don’t we? Lots of it. Forever, maybe, if you wanted.”

“I’d need to… to come out,” Dele said. “And then we could, you know. Properly. We could -“

“Shhh,” Eric soothed. He reached down under his bed, felt for a bottle of lube. “Focus on this first, yeah?” 

Dele nodded. He was flushed and doe eyed, and Eric could barely take his eyes off him long enough to prep his fingers. 

“Ready?”

“Fuck. _Yes._” 

Eric sucked the head of Dele’s dick into his mouth again, and this time lined his finger up, pushing in carefully, taking cues from Dele’s body and the noises he was making. It was beautiful, Eric thought, how responsive Dele was - how he reacted to every crook of Eric’s fingers; the way he pushed down on them and up into Eric’s mouth simultaneously. Eric cursed every god he knew that they hadn’t spent the last three years doing this. He was so painfully hard in his trousers but he didn’t care - he couldn’t think about anything other than making Dele come. 

“Eric,” Dele whined. “Eric. Please - I’m so - I’m gonna come -“ 

Eric sucked hard and bent his fingers just so, and Dele came in spurts over Eric’s tongue, down his throat. Dele was a whimpering mess. He pulled Eric up and kissed at him messily, hands scrabbling against Eric’s clothes, trying to get into his trousers. Eric helped him, pulled them down, shuddered when Dele got a hand wrapped around him. There was no rhythm to it - Dele was like jelly - so Eric put his hand over Dele’s and wanked himself off that way, coming ridiculously quickly, spilling over both of them messily. 

They lay together panting for what felt like an age. Eric was slipping in and out of consciousness, clinging to Dele’s naked, sweaty body. One of them moved first, Eric wasn’t sure who, but somehow they got cleaned up. Eric hadn’t felt exhaustion like it for the longest time. He pulled Dele into his body, into his neck. 

“We can have forever, Del. We can do this forever.”

Dele sighed and stiffened in Eric’s arms. In a quiet voice, he said “I don’t think I want people to know. Not yet.” 

“Okay. Like, keep it between us for now? Us and our families, our friends?” 

Dele sat up and rubbed at his neck. “Well. Maybe not any of them. It’s still, you know. A little -“ 

“You don’t… still, after all this. You don't want to come out? Christ, Dele, I - this is what I was fucking scared of -“ 

“It’s easy for you,” Dele snapped. “It’s so easy for you. You’re the golden boy. You’re - your family love you. You have all this privilege, and if I come out, it might hurt my career. It will hurt my career.”

“Your career means more, does it?”

Dele looked at Eric with cold hurt in his eyes. “My career means more than anything. Anything.” 

Eric laughed unkindly and pulled his knees to his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Fucking hell, Dele. I can’t fucking take this.” 

“You again. You, you, you.” 

“No. It’s you. It’s you, you, you, Dele. And that’s why I’m so fucking miserable.”

“I make you miserable?” Dele got up and started pulling on his clothes. “Cheers. Nice, that. Thanks.” 

Eric couldn’t find it in himself to protest. He watched Dele get dressed like watching a car crash in slow motion. Dele pulled his jumper on backwards, his face screwed up. Before he left, he walked around the bed and grabbed Eric, holding his face between his hands. 

“I love you,” Dele whispered. 

Eric didn’t answer immediately, the lump in his throat too great. Dele shook his head and, without another a word, was gone. After a while, though, into the emptiness of his bedroom, Eric replied. “I love you too.” 

***

His head was thumping when Eric woke up. Sunlight was streaming into the bedroom, and his brain was thick and foggy, as if he’d been asleep for years and was only now coming back into his body. He looked at his watch - it was 12:47 in the afternoon. He hadn’t slept so long since he was a teenager. 

He lay in bed for a few moments. That familiar sadness was there, squeezing at his heart. It was comforting in a way - familiar and steady. Eric pulled himself out of bed when his bladder refused to be ignored any longer. He let the dogs outside and put some bread in the toaster. It was another thirty minutes before he even thought to check his phone. 

When he picked it up, his throat constricted. There were hundreds of notifications, and they were still coming. He slid against the wall - something had happened. Someone had died, someone had been hurt, Poch was selling him. He couldn’t keep track of the notifications, not as quickly as they were coming in. Then he saw it, and he sank to his knees. 

Sky News: Tottenham’s Dele Alli Third Premier League Footballer come out as Gay. Read more 

Eric heaved twice. He just made it to the sink before he threw up. His head was spinning, his hands shaking. His phone started ringing and he picked it up without even checking who was calling. 

“Eric? Where have you been, mate? Have you seen?” It was Kane, and he sounded concerned. 

“Harry - I - he - I can’t -“ 

“Breathe,” Harry said carefully. “Eric, where are you? I’m coming over. Can you stay -“ 

Eric’s front door went. 

“Eric, who’s at the door? Are you at home? Who is that?” 

“I have to go,” Eric said, letting his phone slide to the floor. 

He got to his feet unsteadily and moved to the door like it was a life raft in a storm. Eric knew exactly who it was. He knew with every fibre of being who was at that door. He’d waited so long - they both had. Eric got his hand on the handle and took a deep breath. No more waiting. 

With every bit of strength he had left, Eric opened up the door on the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more angst. Only happiness. I love you all more than I can express.


End file.
